


Camp Shik'is

by im_engineering_shes_biochem



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 22:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4075558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_engineering_shes_biochem/pseuds/im_engineering_shes_biochem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitzsimmons work as counselors at a summer camp.  Mostly for money.  Maybe for the opportunity to express their true feelings for each other.  But yeah, mostly for the money.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one is the most recent, so I'm posting it before any of you judge me harshly on the first one I uploaded. I plan to update Tuesdays. :)

Camp Shik'is (pronounced sih-kiss) was the closest thing to a summer camp that you could get in urban Boston. It was also the only place where the rich kids could mix with the lower class without a money boundary separating them, but that's not really why kids showed up every June. (It was mostly because their parents needed a break from the wild beasts.)

Fitz and Jemma were mostly in it for the money. College was expensive, what with the tuition and the supplies and the several times they'd had to scrounge up cash when Fitz broke something in the lab. Not to mention the tea imported from England and all the postage for packages Fitz's mum sent him. The fact was, Fitzsimmons were in debt. They could barely keep the lights on in their shared apartment, and, according to the flyer hanging on a light post outside of the campus creamery (that was another thing, they ate lots of ice cream), registering to be camp counselor for the summer paid 'a rewarding experience', 'treasured lifetime memories', and $750 a week, lodging and food included. It would also keep them out of their apartment all summer, hopefully saving a bit on the utilities bill.

Luckily, the training for the job had been pretty simple. A perky blonde woman clearly going through a middle-aged crisis spent the day explaining the rotation of jobs they would go through. Fitz and Jemma were Team Three, which they had to creatively rename with two other disinterested college students as a 'team bonding exercise'. Fitz was the most enthusiastic of the group, so naturally, Team Three became Dumbledore's Army. Anyways, Dumbledore's Army would serve janitorial duty the first week, and had been thoroughly instructed on the art of cleaning bathrooms.

The counselors would also be rotated about cabins each week, as to 'establish trust and develop meaningful connections' with all of the 'delightful cherubs' they'd be watching over for the summer. Obviously, Jemma was skeptical of this, and she requested multiple times to be housed in the staff member's cabin, but apparently being with the children was a requirement for counseling. Jemma thought that was ridiculous, and Fitz generally agreed with Jemma on everything, so he did, too.

Really, Fitz just wanted to bunk with Jemma, like he did at their apartment. And he liked being close to her. It gave him more opportunities (excuses) to touch her, whether that be brushing his fingers over her hand in dirty dishwater or throwing an arm around her when they were settling in for movie nights. Touching Jemma made him feel things. No, that sounds weird. Fitz didn't quite now how to explain it.  
"Now, camp counselors!" shouted the perky blonde director of the camp, maybe Karen (if Jemma was listening better she might've caught a name). "The campers will be arriving soon, and this first hour with them is quite possibly the most important part of the summer. Remember, first impressions are everything here at camp Shik'is. This is the first of many opportunities for connecting with the campers. Today is about building a stable platform for building beautiful mentorships and lifelong friendships with children!" Jemma hardly wanted to be besties with a twelve-year-old, but she was still hoping for relocation to the staff cabin, so she nodded enthusiastically. Out of the corner of her eye, Fitz joined her excited response, with greater zealousness. Then it was a competition. Who could be the biggest suck-up and look like the ultimate idiot?  
"After all," Karen finished, clasping her hands together by her chest and taking a deep, dramatic breath. "Shik'is means friendship in Navajo."

"I thought it meant 'this is not an ethnically diverse camp so we made up a Native American name to level out the whiteness," Jemma muttered to Fitz, forgetting about their friendly competition.

Fitz chuckled in reply, and Jemma glanced to the side to find him leaning forward, chin resting on his knuckles, elbows balanced on his knees. "By the way, you win the biggest kiss-ass award. You can stop now."

Fitz immediately sat back on the rough log that somehow passed as a chair. Then, he looked down at his feet, kicking at the wood chips beneath his converse. Jemma smiled. No way would he ever see her like this. She would get stuck in these trances sometimes, where she'd just look at Fitz and resist muttering to herself about his nice symmetrical face and stringy, comfortable arms. Then she would break herself out and give a light scolding for thinking that way, then get back to business. Lately she'd been slacking on the scolding part. So what if she was amazed by what the laser focus he put into his engineering projects did to the spot between his eyes? At least she wasn't having out-of-control dreams about him. She'd done that with a few of her exes. Never wanted those nightmares again.

Speaking of nightmares... "Here comes the first wave of campers!" Karen squealed into the microphone, causing amazingly high-pitched feedback.

"Into the belly of the beast, I guess," Jemma whispered to Fitz as the first minivan pulled into the drive.

"Yep. Good luck with your cabin." The counselors around them stood reluctantly as the registration process commenced. Several people cut between them, as though they didn't understand what a human conversation looks like.

"You, too. See you at dinner?" Now staff members were herding them into their places behind tables, and Fitz was slowly being pulled away from Simmons.

"I sure hope so!" he shouted back before they were separated completely, a crowd of annoyed college students pushing them in their separate ways. Jemma then realized they had never been parted like that before, and it made her kind of sad. However, by the time the first helicopter mom reached the table, worrying at her mad-looking daughter's curls, Jemma had plastered a fake smile across her face as to appear welcoming.

"Welcome to camp!"


	2. Chapter Two

It was five o'clock and already Jemma Simmons was so done. The children were absolute snobs, regardless of wealth, and she was pretty sure some of them were making up disorders just to make her job more difficult. In fact, she was fairly certain that allergies to 'annoying British people' were not a thing. And, though she wouldn't have enjoyed being in the company of the 'cherub' behind the made up allergy, Jemma was still quite hurt the freckled girl had requested a cabin change. She was also disgruntled that the mother had agreed, one hundred percent. Jemma would never raise her nonexistent children to act like that, much less support them in their endeavors of annoyance.

She wanted to tell Fitz all about the ridiculous encounter at dinner, and she likely would have been rather loud about it, but unfortunately the counselors had to sit with their cabins and play Get-to-Know-Me Games, with a list of questions on a laminated sheet. If they ever actually got to that. Jemma was currently arguing with a bony, Dutch-braided blonde over food options.

"Listen, I know you have a gluten allergy. I'm acceptant of that. But this salad is the only gluten-free option we have. What do you even eat at home?"

"Mom buys special gluten-free meals. What, can't this summer camp afford legitimate gluten-free options?"

"It's called salad!"

"I am being discriminated against. I'm reporting you to Sherry."

"Who's Sherry?"

The girl just scrunched up her face into a somewhat repulsive, serious expression and folded her little stick arms across her chest. Then she turned away and skipped to a different table, braids swinging behind her like a horse's tail.

"Great, I'm down to nine, now," Jemma muttered, recounting the group of girls at the table. "Wait, eight?" She counted again, slightly panicked. "Never mind, it's nine," she whispered with a proud half-smile.

She took her seat at the round plastic table, stealing a glance at Fitz's group, where he was doing surprisingly well with the introductions. Why did he have to be better than her? It was quite annoying. Jemma shook her head and rolled her eyes before finally speaking to the rest of the girls at her table.

"Hey, everyone. I'm Jemma Simmons, and I'll be your cabin counselor for the first week. Now, I believe we have a list of questions to go through..." Jemma trailed off, searching for the laminated paper under pitchers of soda and plates of pizza.

"Are you British?" asked a tan girl wearing way too much makeup for a summer camp.

Jemma looked up only long enough to find the source of the question and give the obvious answer. "Uh, yes."

"Do you go to Hogwarts?" asked a small, pale brunette with thick-framed glasses, too big for her face. Her question was timid, questioning. Jemma nearly 'awwwed' out loud. The little girl reminded Jemma of herself in middle school.

"Obviously not," replied Gluten Girl before Jemma had the chance to. Great, her number was back up to ten. "She's a muggle, like all of us. What kind of witch would decide to attend a lame summer camp over hanging out in Diagon Alley or going to World Cup Quiditch. Duh."

"Unless I'm muggle-born," Jemma pointed out, and all of the table stared at her in awed silence. Jemma felt uncomfortable with the situation, and so she dug back in to the list of questions.

"Of course she's a mudblood," Salad Girl muttered as she chomped reluctantly on a lettuce leaf.

"Of course you're Slytherin," Jemma retorted, snapping her head up and looking as intimidating as she could. She often tried this look on Fitz, when he stole spoons of her ice cream or asked for the answers to a history exam. It never worked; Fitz always ended up a giggling mess and Jemma always ended up giving him what he wanted.

Apparently, the look worked on inferior twelve-year-olds, as Salad Girl shut up and Glasses Girl smiled happily to herself. The rest of the uninvolved girls picked at their pizzas, not wishing for drama on the first day. Good choice.

Just then, a clatter, followed by shattering glass, rang through the dining hall, and all heads snapped towards the commotion. Fitz stood, paralyzed, in the middle of a scattering of shattered glass and pizza crusts. The campers stared at him, Fitz stared at the mess, and Jemma brought her palm to her forehead exasperatedly.

"Whoops," Fitz finally said, then shot a cheeky grin at his table. A group of rambunctious boys, most of them already speckled with mud and pizza sauce, broke into a fit of laughter, which the rest of the hall eventually joined in on. Sure, when Fitz was clumsy it was hilarious, when Jemma was clumsy, it was 'unacceptable for a brilliant young women entering the medical field'. Like accidentally spilling hydrochloric acid on a patient would kill them. (They might just be fatally wounded, but what's the point of a hospital if nobody gets fatally wounded?)

"That Scottish guy is cute," whispered Makeup Girl to the rest of Jemma's table, and all ten girls giggled and nodded in agreement.

"That Scottish guy is my best friend," Jemma said proudly. She hoped it would give her brownie points. Somehow. "And his name is Fitz," she added, in case they didn't believe her.

All of them quietly glared at her in a not-so-scary way, save for Salad Girl, who was smirking.

"And he's not cute," Jemma finished. Her voice had shrunk down to an almost-whisper from the tweenage stare-downs. Also, that last part was a lie. Fitz was so cute.

Jemma looked over her shoulder at Fitz's flushed pink face. He was sweeping up the broken glass and performing stand-up comedy for his table, apparently. Yep. Totally adorable.

"You like him," Salad Girl stated, sounding tauntingly bored with the situation. Jemma turned back to face her suddenly. Now she'd have to object, like she always did when people questioned the nature of her relationship with Fitz.

"What?" Jemma protested, probably far too energetically than called for. "No, Fitz and I are just friends who share an apartment- damn!" She winced at that over-revelation, knowing these kids would just suspect the worst.

Salad Girl's eyebrows rose, and Jemma closed her eyes and clenched her mouth shut to keep from saying any more. "He a good kisser?" Salad Girl prodded teasingly.

"We only kissed one time," Jemma blurted before she could stop herself, then brought up her hands to hide her warm face. When she dropped her hands, the girls were giggling and whispering to each other. Salad Girl folded her arms together again, and gave Jemma an intimidating look. "Yeah, he's a good kisser," Jemma mumbled, giving in willingly before her cheeks could redden even more. At least this was 'establishing trust' with her cabin mates. Maybe they wouldn't feel the need to prank her the first night if she already embarrassed herself enough at dinner.

"Do any of you have boyfriends?" Jemma asked, changing the subject. She probably should've followed the questions on the sheet provided, but they were already too off-topic.

"Yeah, my boyfriend is named Charles," Makeup Girl bragged. "He sits with me at lunch on Thursdays and sometimes we'll hold hands during math class."

While the rest of the table cooed about the 'adorable' relationship between Makeup Girl and Charles, Jemma retorted, "Do any of you have a real boyfriend?"

"Charles is a real boyfriend. He got me a Hershey's bar on Valentine's Day!" Makeup Girl insisted, as if spending fifty cents on a vending machine candy bar was the truest sign of love.

"Good luck with that," Jemma replied finally, through gritted teeth. This Summer would just be the greatest.

"Know what? Let's just go through the questions on this list."


	3. Chapter Three

"For the last time, lights out!" Jemma shouted to ten giggly girls wearing pajamas and running around, hopping into bunk beds. The small cabin she shared with the youngsters contained five bunk beds, three on the right and two on the left, as well as a single bed for the counselor supervisor. Jemma had checked out the bathroom first thing upon arrival, and she was so glad to hear she would have access to cleaning supplies for it. Like most camp bathrooms, it was disgustingly unsanitary, and the list of diseases she could catch from it had already run through her mind.

"Everyone in their bunks? Yes? Good." Jemma flicked the switch off, and the room was flooded with darkness, save for the slightest beam of starlight peeking through the curtains of the one window in the cabin. "Sleep tight, girls. From what I've heard, you have a long day tomorrow. I'm off to the counselor's meeting now. Stay away from the door, and beware that it locks automatically."

Jemma turned to open said door, and one of the girls called out. It sounded like Glasses Girl. No, wait. Her name was Sarah. Apparently it was 'inappropriate for a mature young women to call girls names'. Jemma doubted any of her childhood camp counselors remembered her name. It was a lot of work, memorizing names. Then again, so was med school.

"Yes, Sarah?" Jemma asked the darkness, not quite sure where Sarah's bunk was.

"The counselors usually tell a bedtime story," Sarah said shyly. Nobody in the cabin objected to a bedtime story, so Jemma reluctantly took a seat on her bed. She started with a deep breath.

"There once was an alien who lived on a planet called Gallifrey." She waited, listening intently to the silence, expecting at least one of the girls to point out that Jemma's bedtime story was copyrighted. No one did. Ugh, Americans.

"The alien looked a lot like you and I, and but he was part of a species called the Timelords. He called himself The Doctor. When The Doctor was a boy, he was being trained to become a warrior, to fight against the Timelords' arch enemies, the Daleks. Daleks look like big, robotic trash cans, by the way, and they want to exterminate The Doctor. Anyways, The Doctor wanted to be peaceful, and he didn't want to fight in the war against the Daleks. So, The Doctor snuck into a Timelord garage, where many machines were being stored. He stole one, called the TARDIS. That stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space. Basically, The Doctor stole a spaceship slash time machine."

Jemma continued on with the Doctor Who retelling until she got to Three's storyline. Although the girls were most obviously sleeping (who knew little girls could snore so loudly?), Jemma announced quietly to the room, "I'm leaving now."

When Jemma reached the gathering hall, tables of leftover pizza were set up beneath dimmed lights, and pop music was playing lightly while counselors and staff members chatted. She shoved her way through the crowd unapologetically, searching for the curly-haired top of Fitz's head.

"Jemma, hey!" Fitz called from behind her, then placed a hand on her shoulder. Jemma couldn't help the smile that spread across her face, but she could sure as hell try to hide it. Fortunately, she was able to brush it off before turning around to see him grinning and holding a huge piece of pizza.

"Fitz! I was just looking for you. How was your first day?"

God, she was beautiful. Wait, no, she's your friend. Answer the question, Fitz.

"Um, yeah, it was good." Jemma smoothed her lips into a line and nodded, then glanced around the room. "I already caught one of the boys trying to smuggle a bag of marshmallows into the cabin after the bonfire, but, you know. That's how I was as a teenager."

Jemma chuckled lightly. Fitz exhaled slowly. Every little thing she did just made him more and more confused. He felt something swell in his chest every time she was near, and a few times he'd almost asked her for her medical opinion on the sensation. It had all started after they'd kissed back in freshman year. Fitz assumed the feeling wouldn't kill him, as he'd survived this far. It was just kind of uncomfortable. It was worse when the chest swelling was accompanied by his stomach twisting in knots. Also, when it got really bad, he'd start sweating buckets. But he didn't want Jemma to know that she was the cause of his medical condition, so he just kept quiet. Besides, all of the websites he'd entered his symptoms into told him he was experiencing food poisoning, and Fitz was certain his food was completely healthy. (Well, he knew it wasn't completely healthy, but he liked the way it tasted, and Jemma would take away his delicious stash of foreign pickled herring. Don't ask.)

"Well, my cabin consists of an argumentative beauty queen, a stuck up blonde with a gluten allergy, and a tiny Harry Potter enthusiast."

"Did she ask if you-"

"Went to Hogwarts? Yes, she did. I told her I was a muggleborn." Fitz smiled and took a final bite of his fifth pizza slice that night.

"It's ridiculous how often we get asked if we're wizards," he mused as the two were distracted by a sudden dance party breaking out in the center of the hall.

"Bloody Americans," Jemma scoffed back, both in response to the failure break dancing happening and to the assumption that all Europeans are connected to magic English culture.

"I've had professors ask if I wear a kilt on the weekends."

Jemma snorted, and Fitz found it nothing short of adorable. "You wouldn't believe the number of cashiers that ask me about having tea with the queen."

"Yeah, and somehow people always think I am able to drink strong liquor. I'm constantly offered whiskey at parties, and I can't find a manly way to tell people I can only take light, light beers."

The young man doing the coffee grinder in the middle of a circle tripped on his own leg, forcing his face into the cement floor. The audience cheered, nonetheless, and Fitz had to wonder if maybe all of them were drunk. Perhaps there was a secret cooler hidden in the back of the kitchen Fitz could search for when they had kitchen duty. He would wait until the campers went to bed before ingesting anything, of course. He wasn't completely irresponsible.

"People are always mimicking my accent," Jemma added, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Mine, too!" Fitz countered. "And mine is harder, so it always ends up sounding Irish or Australian."

"Everyone compliments me for the invention of scones and Nutella."

"Everyone thinks I play the bagpipes." Fitz turned to face her, making this into a serious competition. Jemma quickly swiveled to face him, as well, face tensed up in concentration.

"Cheeky Nandos. With the lads," Jemma argued.

"Hoagies," Fitz countered, taking a step forward.

"Sherlock Holmes." Jemma took another step forward, and their toes touched.

"Peter Capaldi."

"One Direction."

"Stonehenge conspiracy theories."

"The Changing of the Guard."

"Loch ness monster."

Then their noses brushed, and they were startled with the realization that they were now kissing distance. Both had unconsciously leaned in with each accented syllable. Fitz's eyes were wide, and Simmons' mouth hung open, as if she were trying to say something. Then Fitz noticed his hands had traveled to her hips, and they were just grazing her sides. Jemma's position was even worse, as she had dug her palms into his forearms.

"We're both really tired," Fitz whispered, yet he hadn't pulled away any distance.

"Uh, yeah," Jemma replied, finally breaking eye contact and looking down to her hands where they still lay, fingers splayed across his arm. Fitz felt her exhaled breath fan across his lips, and just as he closed his eyes, her hands lifted off him and he snapped back to reality.

Jemma lowered her arms to her sides, then curled in her fingers until her nails were biting into her palms. She needed the sting to keep herself awake, to keep herself alert after... all of that. It took all her will to take a step back, then another and another until she wasn't being pulled to him like gravity.

"Goodnight, Fitz," Jemma murmured before turning and walking quickly and determinedly out of the hall and into cool, starlit blackness. She ran back before she could make another delirious decision and settled herself into her bed in the cabin. It was awhile before Jemma was able to sleep.

Meanwhile, Fitz leaned against the wood-paneled wall of the gathering hall, breathing and thinking hard. About five minutes after Jemma left, he decided he couldn't process anything this late at night, so he grabbed another slice of pepperoni from the table and made his way back to his cabin, where he passed out immediately after finishing his food.


	4. Chapter Four

The wake up signal (an obviously prerecorded bugle melody) blared throughout all the camp, waking every single one of its pissed-off inhabitants at precisely seven AM. The sun had risen already, and most of the dew was gone from the grass, so there was no pleasure in waking. Just dreary coldness from the air conditioning left on overnight and tired-eyed campers with messy hair and wrinkled, worn sweatshirts.

Fitz sat up groggily, then adjusted his Star Trek t-shirt and rubbed at his eyes. Several of the boys in his cabin were already out of their bunks, walking around barefoot on the smooth wooden floor. A line had formed for the bathroom, which Fitz joined with a quiet grumble of, "Bloody hell."

After all of his cabin begrudgingly did their business then got dressed, Fitz herded them out the door and down the path to the dining hall. He'd almost forgotten about last night's... incident... when he caught a glimpse of Jemma's mussed, wavy bed head. Fitz stopped in his tracks, turned around awkwardly, and ruffled his own hair. Then he knelt down to tie his shoes before remembering he was wearing sandals. (Anything to delay the inevitable confrontation with Jemma.)

Halfway through the course of breakfast, just when Fitz thought he had successfully avoided Jemma, he entered the kitchen looking for tea. Of course Jemma happened to be doing the exact same thing, and of course she noticed Fitz before he could duck out.

"Ah, Fitz!" she greeted cheerily, turning his way and leaning against the shiny metal counter. Fitz froze momentarily, then smiled and went to shove his hands into his pockets. His shorts didn't have pockets, but again he realized this too late and settled for hanging his hands awkwardly at his sides.

"Uh, hey, Jemma!" he replied, then winced at how gleefully he'd sounded.

"We're both adults, right?" Jemma asked hesitantly, avoiding eye contact. "We don't have to be awkward about last night." Fitz swallowed hard before nodding back. Really, he wanted to figure out time travel so that he could go back to feeling her warm breath across his mouth, her fingers pressing against his wrists. But Jemma wanted it to remain in the past, so Fitz wouldn't bring it up.

"How was your first night with the kids?" he asked, changing the subject as naturally as he could. They then continued their search for tea bags or even just a pitcher of iced tea. (How could they expect English counselors not to require tea in the mornings? Honestly.)

"Good, for the most part. This girl, Leah, the bratty one that hates salad, tried duct taping me to the bed this morning, but I woke up before she could finish."

Fitz chuckled. Why would anyone dislike Jemma so much? Sure, she was a bit of a smartass, and stubborn as hell, but she wasn't a mean person. In fact, she was the kindest, most genuine person he knew. Hopefully the campers would come around.

"At least your cabin is sneaky with their pranking. I caught my entire cabin filing out the door at two in the morning. They wanted to TP the girls' cabins. With a single toilet paper roll."

Jemma snorted. "Yeah, I'm not even sure where she got the duck tape. Did she just bring it along? Because that's creepy as hell."

"It's like that one film we watched, the one with the summer camp for deranged children. What's the name?"

"I don't watch horror movies, Fitz," Jemma exclaimed, smiling. "You have to call Skye over for a 'Chainsaw Massacre night' or whatever you two call it. I can't even be in the same room! I start crying."

"In that case, don't let me tell campfire stories. Ah, found it!" Fitz held up a dusty crate full of cardboard boxes labeled 'Mighty Leaf Tea Company'. He picked out an Earl Grey box and hoped it was decent. "Have you got a kettle?"

"Nope, but I've got a microwave and these mugs," Jemma replied, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Fitz resisted the urge to wrap his arms around her waist and nuzzle into her neck, instead clearing his throat and setting the box down beside Jemma's makeshift kettle.

"Counselors Fitz and Simmons!" He turned towards the doorway to find director Karen standing there, hands on her hips and a dissatisfied face on her face.

"Karen, hi!" Jemma spoke up perkily, then pressed the start button on the microwave.

"Counselors should be with their cabins at all times." She didn't even say hello. Rude prick. "What are you two doing?"

"Tea?" Fitz replied, pointing to the whirring microwave. Jemma swatted at his arm, and he cringed away. "Ow!"

"I understand you have different cultural needs than the rest of the counselors," Karen said sternly, then whipped her ponytail to the side like her own personal blonde whip. Fitz bit his lip to keep from laughing. "But you must stay with your cabin. Period. The poor children must be so worried. What if they didn't sleep well? What if they are homesick? They need your counseling. Remember, first impressions are everything. Here at Camp Shik'is, you are mother and father figures to your children. I mean campers." Karen stopped there, then looked as though she couldn't figure out what to say next for a few seconds, then turned and exited the kitchen without another word.

As soon as the door closed, Jemma burst into a fit of laughter, which Fitz quickly joined.

"Well, I suppose we must go have family breakfast with the children. Wouldn't want them to think we don't care about their dreams or their hard mattresses," Jemma said, pulling out the mugs and plopping a tea bag into each one. Fitz smiled at the thought of Jemma gobbling up pancakes with their future children, possibly at a pastel-colored breakfast bar. Fitz, you've got to stop thinking things like that. Don't be an idiot.

"Yeah, I guess I'll see you at our shift?" Fitz asked when they'd stepped out into the chattering space of the dining hall.

"See you then," Jemma replied with a deep breath and a nervous smile thrown to him, and only him. Fitz's heart skipped a beat, and he nodded back before taking a seat at his table.

The boys smirked at him in that boyish way that made Fitz want to both laugh uncontrollably and run away and hide, because he knew something big was going down. Then Wesley, the alpha male of the boys in his cabin, puckered his lips together and made extremely inaccurate kissing noises. Fitz rolled his eyes, and was about to explain to them that this wasn't the way people actually kissed. Before he got the chance to, the entire table was doing it, and Fitz was laughing nervously because he really did want to kiss Jemma again, but he didn't want her to know. He glanced at her table, where she was glaring at her cabin, her forehead crinkling like it did when she was annoyed. Even when arguing with a bunch of stubborn twelve-year-olds, she looked so adorable. And kissable.

Slowly, a plan started hatching in his mind. He was determined to do it by the end of the summer. Fitz was going to kiss Simmons, and it wouldn't just be a stupid thing between drunk best friends this time. This time, it would be perfect.


	5. Chapter Five

After a somewhat pleasant canoeing trip (he was only pushed into the water once!) and a shower, Fitz met up with the rest of 'Team Dumbledore's Army' at the dining hall, ready to begin their janitorial shift. Karen met them there, her signature teeth-baring smile making everyone else uncomfortable. Fitz rolled his eyes subtly at Simmons, who softly and knowingly sighed in exasperation back.

"Hello, Counselors! Are we ready for our first day of cleaning?"

Her question was met with silence, save for a few muttered curses, and Jemma smiled proudly at the group of strangers surrounding her and Fitz. She'd recognized a few from campus, and the rest she was sure were also struggling students, only taking the job for the sake of their Netflix addiction and increasing college loans. She felt at home among the unenthusiastic, desperate young adults.

The group was divided into two subgroups of four: one person for the shower, one for the toilet, and two for the floor and countertops. Fitz and Jemma were paired with another miserable-looking twosome, and they ended up scrubbing lime stains from cabin bathrooms for the next two hours. No one bothered to introduce themselves (or even communicate verbally) until the third cabin, when Fitz spoke up.

"Do you think we'll be put in the same groups next time?" His question echoed off the mirror he was shining, and no one responded for several moments. Apparently they were all too caught up in the terror that was the janitorial shift.

"The blonde devil likes to keep it that way," replied the not-Jemma girl in monotone, not looking up from her mop bucket. Fitz glanced at her in the mirror. She was taller than any of the group, and the way her dirty blonde hair was tied up on the top of her head made her look far more aggressive than she likely was. She was wearing a Star Wars shirt, which should've been welcoming, but instead just made Fitz socially awkward and really, really scared. No way was he attempting to further the conversation with her.

"Cut her some slack, Bob," the other guy spoke, and Jemma peered curiously behind her at the British accent. "It must be hard, running a children's campsite when you're a total bitch." Jemma turned back to her monotonous scrubbing in the shower stall, obviously repulsed at the misogynistic slur. 'Bob', however smirked back at him, clearly pleased with his insult.

Fitz finished polishing the mirror and turned to face Jemma. She was crouched down in the shower stall, furiously attacking the floor tiles with a soapy rag. He lept over a puddle left from Bob's careless mopping and slipped into the stall with Jemma, kneeling down and wetting another rag to help.

Jemma felt someone prodding into her back and whipped her head around to find Fitz smearing dirty water across the left side wall, the heel of his shoe digging into her back unconsciously.

"Fitz!" she shouted, giving up on cleaning her side. She attempted to swivel around and face him, but the stall wasn't big enough, and her knees thumped into his hips. He somehow managed turning to face her, though, and the boy smiled proudly at her. Sometimes he could really be an idiot. "You've ruined that side of the stall. I can do this myself."

Fitz glanced behind him, suddenly noticing the brown smudge he'd left, and started muttering apologies before dipping his rag into the bucket and making the situation worse.

"No, Fitz, just-" Jemma reached across him in an attempt to snatch his rag away, but she slipped and fell against his back, shoving him into the tile. He winced, but she was so annoyed at this point, she just continued grasping for the rag.

"Just get out of the bloody shower!" she shouted, then leaned back on her heels as Fitz scrambled to his feet. However, the bumbling genius smacked his head against the shower handle on the way up, and cold water rained down on them in harsh spurts. Jemma screeched shortly before leaping to her feet, but Fitz was still in the way, rubbing his head like a caveman, so she stumbled into him again, grabbing at his shirt in the process.

Jemma was still furious with him, but the bit of warm skin her fingers brushed against as she tried to keep balanced made her blush. At least she had the anger to blame her redness on. She could faintly hear the other two laughing outside, but just barely, as her heart was beating too loudly. Fitz had gone completely still under the cool pour of water (the imbecile), so Jemma had to reach behind him to turn the water off before storming out of the stall, shaking and completely drenched.

The other girl offered her a towel and a warm smile while the other guy stood laughing. Jemma wanted to punch him in the nose. He wasn't helpful in the least. Fitz emerged from the stall a second later, shivering and towel-less, as the British lad hadn't grabbed one for him.

"Are you two supposed to be the foreign geniuses from MIT?" he asked once he'd finally been able to stop guffawing. The girl elbowed him, hard, and Jemma caught Fitz gulp out of the corner of her eye.

"Supposed to be, yeah," Fitz replied with a hint of underlying anger, then grabbed a towel from the counter behind the mocking guy.

"Wow, and I thought I was a disappointment," he taunted while Jemma rang her hair out. She paused, mouth open and ready to spew all sorts of unflattering things, when the blonde girl cut her off.

"You are a disappointment, Lance, now shut the hell up." Jemma smiled at the tall girl appreciatively. "I'm Bobbi, Boston University. That's Lance Hunter. He's a drop out and an asshole."

"I am an asshole," Lance agreed seriously, then broke into a subtle smirk. "But I'm also her boyfriend."

Bobbi rolled her eyes in exasperation before making eye contact with Lance. "Unfortunately, yes. A leech boyfriend who's always in my apartment, but never pays the bills."

Jemma looked back and forth between the odd couple, wondering how exactly someone as amazingly friendly as Bobbi could end up with someone like Lance. Then she made a mental note to never date someone more stubborn and outright rude than Jemma was herself on occasion. Seriously, how in the hell does that pairing happen?

"That's Leo Fitz. I'm Jemma Simmons. He's engineering, I'm biochem." They all shook hands, and Lance apologized for his being an ass, and he patted Fitz on the back in a friendly manner, and Fitz jolted forward unnecessarily and scowled just the slightest bit. Jemma almost laughed at the discomfort on the other end of the room.

"Are you two a couple?" Bobbi asked, and Jemma froze up. She glanced over at Fitz, who was also paralyzed, mouth hanging wide open, before deciding she needed to say something to make this less suspicious.

"Oh, no, we're just friends."

"Just best friends," Fitz corrected.

"We'd never dream of..."

"...I mean, sometimes I think of her like that and it's just..."

"...oh, and we live together as well, but..."

"...then I say, 'Jemma's your friend, you babbling idiot'..."

"...one summer we kissed, but it wasn't that good, I mean..."

"...one thing lead to another, and then I was leaning in..."

"...we really are just friends," Jemma finished.

"...she's really, really beautiful but I don't want to get in her pants or anything like... that. Oh, I'm the only one talking now, isn't that nice."

Bobbi and Lance stared at the pair, Bobbi with a look of amusement, Lance with one of confusion. Then Bobbi flitted her eyes up to the ceiling and laughed under her breath and asked, "Do you guys do that often?"

"What, the awkward over-sharing or the babbling?" Fitz blurted, then wheezed what seemed to be a laugh before rolling his lips into his mouth dropping his gaze to the floor. Jemma concealed a smile at his awkwardness, instead choosing to clear up the tension in the room and answer herself.

"We babble a lot. It's a habit from brainstorming sessions in chem lab."

Bobbi smiled and nodded while Lance stood silently, eyebrows furrowed like he was still processing what's going on.

"Well, it's nice to meet you both. Maybe keep the babbling to a minimum while we're sponging up urine, yeah?"


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is more of a filler chapter, but I promise the next one is exciting!

"All I'm saying is that you'd look so much prettier if you wore a little mascara." Jemma just sighed. She was used to these snide remarks from the girls in her cabin by now, and it hadn't even been forty-eight hours. Mackenzie, aka Makeup Girl, had spent the entire canoe trip, plus lunch and dinner, pointing out the various flaws in Jemma's complexion, and how easily she could fix herself if she used this powder and this brush and this 'technique I saw once in a YouTube tutorial'.

"I'm fine with the way I look now, thanks."

"Maybe if you were prettier Fitz would be your boyfriend," Salad Girl (no, Leah) interjected, then looked expectantly at Jemma. She wanted a counterattack, an explosion, and Jemma wouldn't give it to her, became she was the mature one.

"I'd rather not date Fitz, thank you very much," Jemma responded tiredly. Would all of this summer be just one awkward dance around the question of her and Fitz's relationship? Honestly, that sounded exhausting. If anything was to happen between them, it would've happened already. Simple fact.

"What about Fitz?" Bobbi asked from behind, pulling her chair next to Jemma and plucking a waffle fry off her plate. "Wow, so the kids are in on it, too? Bold move, Simmons."

"There's nothing to be in on," Jemma said with a roll of her eyes before nudging her plate closer to Bobbi, who eagerly ate another fry. "We're just friends."

"Friends with benefits?" suggested Bobbi, then waggled her eyebrows.

Jemma stole her plate of fries back and glared at Bobbi before harshly whispering, "Not in front of the kids!"

But the kids had already heard, and most of them had probably watched a few mature movies their parents wouldn't approve of, and Leah was leading the group in a giggle-fest. Great, now she would have to assert the situation in front of the tiny people.

"Fitz and I are not hooking up."

"Whoa, what was that, Jemma?" Jemma turned to face Karen, who had unfortunately been passing by when Jemma was defending herself. By this point, Jemma was so done with Karen's perkiness and superior attitude that she came up with a lie in two seconds.

"Fitz and I aren't into fishing. The girls were asking about the fishing trip on Friday."

Karen nodded suspiciously. Jemma held intimidating eye contact, as if she was challenging Karen to argue. Karen broke first, walking away swiftly, and Bobbi high-fived Jemma under the table before stealing more fries.

"But you kissed that one time, right?" pried Salad Girl Leah, and Bobbi's eyes widened.

"Yes, one time. We were drunk. Or at least, I was. That's the only way I could've enjoyed such a thing." Now Bobbi was in a laughing fit that startled the whole dining hall.

"Shh, Bobbi," Jemma hushed her, and Bobbi brought a hand to her mouth while Jemma scanned the hall nervously for Karen. Jemma caught Fitz looking at her and hurriedly faced the table again. "Can we change the topic please?"

"Does anyone know the game we're playing tonight?" Sarah peeped from her chair at the table. Jemma looked to Bobbi, who was gulping down the rest of the iced tea from the pitcher, making gurgling noises like she wanted to talk. Jemma laughed at the pathetic behavior, but in less of a mocking way and more of an amused way. Bobbi was the funniest, cutest person here (besides Fitz).

After finishing her gallon, Bobbi gasped a deep breath and answered, "I think it's capture the flag. Counselors divide up and choose teams."

"Sounds delightful," Jemma replied as she sipped at her own tea. Honestly, she wished they just wouldn't go outside. Outside is where the bugs were, and although most of them were harmless, she knew all of the kids would be complaining. Plus, she'd checked and memorized the weather for this week and it was set to thunderstorm tonight. Not that Karen would listen to her cautions.

The 'blonde demon' didn't even consider her warnings, instead rambling about camp tradition or something. Jemma decided she didn't need to listen to Karen if Karen didn't listen to her. So, her and Bobbi, Lance and Fitz gathered with the rest of the camp in the humid field outside the dining hall. As expected, mosquitoes were in abundance, and so were the complaints about them. Karen marched through the grumbling crowd and stood cheerily in front of everyone.

"Good evening campers!" she greeted, her smile uncomfortably larger than normal. "How's your attitude?!"

The campers around Jemma straightened their backs and rolled their eyes in almost unison before beginning the creepiest ritual Jemma had seen. Several twelve year olds trying not to care too much all swayed in the grass, chanting a clearly Satanic mantra together.

"Faaantastic. Terrrific. Gaaaroovy. And all day long, huh!"

Nope, Jemma never needed to hear that again. Bobbi was grinning at her from the side, clearly entertained by Jemma's simultaneous confusion and horror. Jemma wished she was a veteran of this, like Bobbi was. As a prodigy genius freak, her job was to know everything. The newness of this job, though refreshing, made Jemma feel insecure and dumb. Nobody here even knew she had the periodic table memorized.

"Tonight's game is going to be capture the flag," Karen managed through her terrifyingly tight, smiley face. "Counselors, divide into two groups."

Jemma found herself following Fitz to the side before Bobbi tugged on her arm and pulled her to the opposite group. Jemma knitted her eyebrows together, somewhat annoyed, and Bobbi smirked.

"Competition is hot," Bobbi answered with a shameless shrug before directing her eyes to where Lance stood on the other team. He met her gaze intensely, and they started mouthing things to each other, so Jemma turned uncomfortably, focussing on something else, anything else.

Fitz hovered awkwardly near Lance as Karen went through pointless instructions to a game everyone already knew how to play. Soon he noticed Jemma watching, and they waved at each other. She could tell he was just as worried as she was about the sky opening and the field flooding, because his pupils were dilated so much that she could hardly see his crystal blue irises. She could picture them from memory, though. A breeze blew Jemma's hair across her neck and she shivered. Alright, Karen, wrap it up.

Bobbi was leader of Team Red, Lance of Team Blue, and they each picked several campers and rounded everyone up into a huddle. Jemma was pleased to see Bobbi had chosen mostly girls, with a few gangly, weak boys, whereas Lance had chosen the bigger boys and a few strong girls.

"Okay, Team Red, here's how this is gonna work. Grant, Wesley, Drew, hide the flag on the boat house roof. That's right, I'm giving you permission to climb the roof. Guys take the defense, girls divide into two groups, distractive and offensive. Guys, slaughter anyone within a fifty yard radius. Girls, swerve and confuse. Let's get shit done."


	7. Chapter Seven

After Jemma got over the triviality of the competition, she'd joined the group in smudging mud on her cheeks as war paint. (At Camp Shik'is, they take games seriously.) Given that the prize was going first in the s'mores line at campfire, Jemma was willing to suit up and tackle a few boys. As the teams got set, Jemma looked around for Fitz, but he wasn't among the bits of Team Blue patrolling the field area. Jemma assumed he was on defense back in the woods and searched for a hole in the enemy line.

"Group Two, get set!" Bobbi shouted as campers from both sides found holes in the center line. Jemma took her place opposite of a taller, leaner boy, then managed to snarl at him without breaking into a laughing fit. He took a weary step back, leaving a space between him and the boy next to him for Jemma to run through. Bobbi patted her on the back as she passed, adjusting their team's setup slightly.

"Ready, campers?" Karen called, and her voice was far too peppy for the war about to take place. Jemma stifled a grin. "Remember to be safe, no pushing or shoving. No name-calling." Everyone in the field snickered, and Karen dropped her face, probably considering another warning. She decided against it, raising a red blow horn, and the campers crouched into ready positions.

"Three! Two! One!" The horn blared, and Jemma darted through the hole in the line and into the open field of the enemy side. Leah and a few others followed close behind as they wove through defending rivals, making their way towards the patch of trees in which the flag was hidden.

The distractive group effectively led most of the clueless guys away from Jemma's offensive group, so it was a fairly clear path through the woods. Ahead the neon orange flag was visible at the base of a huge pine tree, with a ring of defenders guarding it closely. The groups were supposed to converge on the flag, but the distractive group must've been tagged, because Jemma didn't see anyone else. They needed to make a move now, though, because the defenders were fast approaching, so Jemma made a split second decision and sprinted straight forward, sacrificing herself as the rest of the group stormed behind.

Jemma started curving around the defense, catching some of their attention, before someone called out that he could take her. The moment was blurred as she focused all her energy onward and forward, looping the tree at least three times before her motion was interrupted.

Fitz found himself barreling towards Jemma full speed, arms outstretched and feet pounding through fallen twigs with all his strength. Fortunately, Fitz had enough stamina to keep up for a few laps before he pushed through and tackled Jemma to the dirt floor about ten yards from the flag. His force was probably unnecessary, but Jemma was laughing, so he was laughing, too. Realizing she was probably suffocating under his weight, he lifted himself to hover over her. Jemma, giggling, rolled over to face him.

"Rude," Jemma teased, still smiling. She was so beautiful up close, the little creases in her forehead, the cloudy brown of her eyes. And her mouth was so close to his. Fitz couldn't help it; his gaze flickered to her soft pink lips.

This is wrong. He mentally scolded himself, shifting back and refocusing on her eyes. Jemma didn't look like she'd noticed, her face still ridiculously amused, and Fitz grinned. Laughs burst out of her less frequently, and Fitz settled with a closed-mouth smile as he took in the feeling of her ragged breath brushing over his lips.

Suddenly footsteps were thudding up to them, and Jemma craned her head over Fitz's shoulder to see who it was. One of the defenders from Team Blue. Running at them. Well, more likely running at one of Jemma's teammates behind them. She didn't get a good glance at the boy's face, however, because soon the camper was too close. She let out a squeal as he leapt off the ground and took a step off Fitz's back, shoving him down into her.

Fitz exhaled beside Jemma's ear as his legs landed on either side of one of hers, and they lay motionlessly for a few seconds, processing the intimate position. Then he moved,and as soon as she felt his torso lift slightly off hers, she searched his face for some kind of reaction. She didn't know what she was expecting, perhaps an 'ow!' or a string of profanity, but instead he remained embarrassingly silent, his cheeks tinged pink as his hands fumbled for ground by her hips.

Jemma started laughing then, and Fitz initially thought he had mucked it up by staying quiet, but then he noticed the flush of her face, and the crinkles by her eyes, and let himself chuckle the nerves away. Fitz pulled away to get a better view of her as the laughter quieted. An unrecognizable expression graced her face, her jaw hanging half-open, lips curved up, and eyes slightly wider than normal. Fitz was sure she noticed his giddy glance at her lips, now, and he wasn't sure if he should apologize or not this time.

Then she lifted a hand to his hairline, and his apology caught in his throat. Was she leaning in now? Was this happening, or was he imagining it? Her eyes fell closed, and Fitz copied the action, deciding this must be a daydream, and it wouldn't hurt anything if it wasn't real. The tip of her nose tapped his, and Fitz remembered the feeling from the night before, his lips curling up involuntarily. His hand hesitantly slid to her lower back, holding her against him as he leaned forward a final few centimeters.

They were interrupted by the cheers of campers nearby, and Fitz didn't realize what had happened until Leah came galloping over to the two of them, holding a blue flag and grinning. Fitz, remembering Jemma was still under him, pushed himself to his knees and extended a hand to give Leah a high five. Jemma was a giggling mess as Leah turned her nose up and whacked Fitz's ear with the flag as she marched onward. He rubbed at the red spot and watched the girl skip away victoriously.

"Children," Fitz muttered, then rolled his eyes, before standing and helping Jemma up. They made their way back to the field behind a group of celebrating, mud-throwing kids, all the while talking about why in the hell anyone would possibly want to have kids.

"They're messy and expensive," Fitz pointed out, and Jemma nodded.

"Oh yeah, and sometimes they don't even turn out. Like you could raise your child lovingly and safely and once they move out they could grow up to be... mediocre."

"Oh, God, that would be bloody terrible, wouldn't it?" Fitz laughed, and Jemma rolled her eyes.

"You know what I mean." They stopped with the rest of the counsellors, and Fitz, uncomfortably noting Bobbi and Lance covered in mud and smirking at each other, redirected his attention to Jemma, who stared ahead, waiting for direction.

Karen was giving instructions on where groups should relocate, but Fitz was honestly too focused on Jemma's eyes to pay attention. Jemma most definitely felt his stare, but after that second almost-kiss, Fitz decided he could risk it. Plus, it's not like Karen was saying anything that important.

Or maybe she was. Just then, the grey sky opened and thunder rolled over them, and they stood in the middle of a goddamn rainstorm. It was almost comical how quickly Fitz's shirt was drenched, and he joined the rest of the crowd filing inside, hoping someone in his cabin would organize the group.

Luckily, Alpha Wesley had gathered everyone, and Fitz joined them in shivering against the wall of the gathering hall while someone hooked up the projector. Apparently, when it rained at Camp Shik'is, the campfire was replaced with whichever animated movie Karen could get her hands on quickly. She had collected several editions of each Disney movie and displayed them proudly in her office, according to Lance. As the lights dimmed and someone struggled to skip through previews and start The Little Mermaid, Fitz made eye contact with Jemma, who wrung her hair out with paper towels from the restroom. Somehow, through the dripping hair and the embarrassingly sheer plaid shirt, she managed a smile at him. And Fitz smiled back, knowing things could only get better.


	8. Chapter Eight

A week and three almost-kisses later, Karen pulled Fitz into her office. He sat in uncomfortable silence as Karen adjusted the row of boxed set Disney movies, breathing heavily. God, her breathing was the worst. Fitz nearly leaned forward to tell her to stop before deciding she likely had some serious medical condition from spending time with these godawful kids every summer.

"Leo Fitz, do you know why I have called you into my office today?" Karen spoke calmly, but her underlying tone scared Fitz into mentally listing off anything he might've done wrong since the beginning of camp. He'd been early to all of his janitorial duties, he hadn't neglected his campers, except...

"If this is about putting shaving cream in the cool whip container, I was not involved or aware of that," he blurt, and Karen's head tilted to the right like a confused dog.

"Shaving cream in the cool whip- what?" She rubbed at her temples quickly and Fitz's knee accelerated in its nervous bouncing. "We'll deal with that later, thanks for the heads up. What I meant to speak with you about is your relationship with Jemma Simmons."

Fitz's stomach jolted and he tried to mask his surprise by swallowing hard and blinking rapidly. "Um... What relationship exactly?"

"You two certainly have some arrangement going on, whether that be romantic or..." Karen swallowed and made a face. "Physical." Fitz cringed, too shocked to object. "I just want to insure that the campers are not aware of this relationship. Here at Camp Shik'is, we have a rule. No purpling. Have you heard about this?"

Fitz managed to shake his head, his palms still sweaty from the assumed nature of their relationship. "Well, the girls are pink, right? And the boys blue." He wanted to point out how ridiculous the gender role color coding was, but his jaw was still stuck open. "So, when pink and blue cross, they make purple." Now Karen was using hand gestures Fitz had only seen before in tenth grade health class, and he about screamed.

"Okay, yeah, I get it, and I- ew! Jemma and I are just friends."

"With benefits?" Karen asked, as though it were her business.

"No, just friends!" Fitz yelled, hoping this would end the conversation.

"If I asked Jemma, would she say the same?"

Fitz considered this, and although he knew Karen would be happy with his answer, it about crushed him. Jemma would say they were just friends. That was the status of their relationship. Jemma was an amazing friend to him, probably his best friend, but he knew they were destined to go further. They were the perfect pair, in every way, and it would be a bloody waste if they didn't at least experiment with the idea of dating. But Jemma might not feel the same, and Fitz couldn't live without her, so they would keep things platonic until he finally worked up the courage to snog the lips off of her. Or something. Fitz nodded.

"Great, well, I'm glad we've cleared that up. Just for preventative measures, however, I'm going to have to ask you two to split up. At least while in front of the campers."

"No," Fitz replied before he'd even processed the request. Karen, who had gone back to her laptop, looked up, eyebrows raised.

"No?" Karen asked quizzically. "The other option is I can pull up your employment statement and let you go from camp staff, is that what you want?"

"I, um," Fitz stuttered, then readjusted in his chair. "Listen, I need this money."

"I need counsellors who aren't in constant sexual limbo with one another, now make a decision."

Fitz weighed his options, slightly thrown off by Karen's unnecessary comment, and he thought of Jemma's reaction. They really needed cash for their apartment, for food and cleaning supplies, for paying back the lab building when experiments had unexpected results. He also really needed to be with Jemma, though. What would she do?

"Fine, I'll stay," Fitz grumbled, then stood and left before Karen could grin maliciously at him. He really hated this stupid camp.

Jemma was waiting in the hall outside, probably also waiting to be questioned about her feelings, and Fitz hated the way he marched right past her, ignoring her cute little wave. He wished he could've walked faster, because he caught a glimpse of her hurt expression, and it tore at his heart. He made it out the door just as Jemma was called in. Fitz hoped she would understand his decision.

"Why're you so grumpy, Leopald?" Wesley asked that night at dinner. Fitz had barely touched his food (there's a first time for everything), and he didn't even try to talk to his cabin. Also, he regretted his tired decision to announce to the cabin his first name. The boys hadn't stopped calling him 'Leopald' since.

"Jemma and I can't be friends anymore," Fitz replied, then stabbed a green bean with his fork.

"Too much tension between you two. I get it," Wesley joked, causing a roar of laughs around the table.

"Actually, I am the only one that doesn't see this attraction everyone seems so coy about, and your blasted director made assumptions that weren't hers to make. That's why we are forbidden to speak. 'No bloody purpling' she said. As if I ever dreamed..."

The table sat in awkward silence for awhile, save for the hungriest boy, Andrew, pushing his chair out squeakily and going to grab more mac n' cheese. "Sorry about that," Wesley whispered before taking another spoonful of noodle. His apology was echoed with eight others, and Fitz threw his fork down on the table.

"Fitz, mate," Lance greeted, squatting down beside him. "I heard about you and Jemma. She told Bobbi, Bobbi told me, and I'm delivering the message, in the least homosexual way possible."

"What?" Fitz replied, but the word was cut short by Lance's arms around him.

"She says she missed you today, and she did some negotiating with the blonde demon, and you can go to the nightly planning meetings together. Also, the hug's from her, not me, although, you are quite fit and I would totally be interested if both of us swung that way."

Lance pressed a teasing kiss to Fitz's ear, and Fitz swatted him away, grinning. He turned to Jemma's table to find her waving and grinning just the same. See you tonight? he mouthed at her. She nodded vigorously in return, and they went back to their meals just as Karen started shooting daggers.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I've been publishing on Wattpad and forgetting to publish on ao3. I know. I'm terrible.

Fitz found Jemma at the planning meeting that night, and they shared a leftover bread roll whilst listening to disagreeable pop music. Bobbi and Hunter were hidden in the hallway near the bathrooms, making out like they always did, so they were left to chew and people watch. Recently Jemma had been playing a new game where she rated other counsellors by hotness factor, much to Fitz's tired amusement.

"It's a simple rating system based on symmetry of the face and BMI ratios," Jemma insisted when Fitz thought it was a bit rude to quantify people's attractiveness. "It's science, Fitz!"

"It's skewed by so many societal factors, Jemma. We can't produce correlated results with a biased experiment." Jemma rolled her eyes. The conversation was silent for a beat before she spoke again.

"What's attractive to you, then?" she asked, then popped the last piece of her roll into her mouth.

"I don't get attracted to physical attributes, you know that." Fitz looked to the floor and folded his arms across his chest defensively. If this conversation steered any further in that direction, Fitz would be telling her she was beautiful. Friends don't do that, at least not girl-guy friends

"Make something up, then. Appease me." Jemma wanted to hear a single-syllable response. She wanted Fitz to turn to her and shyly grab her hand and whisper that the only physical attributes he was attracted to were hers. Her heart pounded faster in her chest.

"Okay, so a girl a few inches shorter than me," Fitz said instead, and Jemma felt her morale drop. "Maybe five foot, six and a half inches. She'd have curves, but she wouldn't be that perfect hourglass figure lads are always on about."

Jemma nodded disinterestedly, convinced Fitz was enthusing about some engineering girl back home or maybe one of their mutual friends. It stung a little, but Jemma had always been there for Fitz's hopeless romanticism, and it wasn't different from now. Well, for Jemma it was different. Fitz was the same old Scotsman she'd known for years.

"Loads of light freckles. On her cheeks, on her shoulders, on the backs of her hands. If I had to choose a 'thing', it'd be freckles. Also, the warmest, kindest brown eyes, kind of like chocolate." Now he was just being irritable. Hearing about his other crush was hurting her. She cut him off with a sigh.

"Yeah, well I prefer the rating system," Jemma continued bitterly. "For example, see that guy?" She pointed at a large passing man who was grinning at a few counselors across the hall. His dark-skinned head shimmered slightly with reflected light, but his hairlessness didn't take away from his muscle mass. Jealousy bubbled in Fitz's stomach. Fitz swallowed. Jemma grinned. "That guy's a solid nine."

"Well," Fitz started, not exactly sure what his mouth was doing, but feeling suddenly full of rage. "That girl," he pointed to a shorter, curly-haired girl wearing a red floral sundress. "On my scale, she's a ten."

"Really?" Jemma demanded, not bothering to hide her angry tone now. Fitz wasn't sure how this had escalated so fast, but it had turned into a full-blown fight now. And Fitz's pride was taking control of his tongue.

"Yeah!" he shouted in reply, and Jemma huffed. "You know what, Jemma?"

"What?" she shouted back just as fiercely, pushing her face into his personal space. This could've been another in a long strand of almost-kisses, but they were too pissed at each other to notice.

Fitz couldn't force himself to call her names. He physically could not insult her looks, nor her brains, nor her personality. He couldn't even think about stomping away at this point, and he couldn't let himself take a step closer. The anger in his belly died down until he felt more like crying than yelling. Jemma wasn't attracted to him that way, because he would eternally be her best friend, and no quantity of almost-kisses would change that. She would never see him like she saw complete strangers, and he'd never appear on her stupid catalog of hotness ratings. Fitz didn't think he could take another day teetering on edge like this, never knowing when he'd break and spill his secrets, never knowing whether she'd reciprocate those feelings or push him away. He knew what she'd choose. He decided he wouldn't give her the choice.

Jemma swallowed back tears as Fitz's gaze fell back on the perfect ten girl, and she had to fight the instinct to grab hold of his face and force him to look back at her. He took a rattling breath, and Jemma already knew everything about his next words would be completely wrong.

"Maybe Karen was right," Fitz sighed out, silently praying for a quick escape so that Jemma couldn't witness his tears. "I don't want to be your friend anymore."

Jemma's throat tightened reflexively, and she took two steadying breaths before allowing herself to speak. "I don't want to be your friend, either." She meant for it to be sharp, like a whip to his stupidly symmetrical face, but it came out weak and honest. Because she didn't want to be his friend anymore. She wanted more.

"I'll transfer out of Dumbledore's Army in the morning," Fitz mumbled quickly, then turned away. Jemma held in the tears until he was out the door, and then she let them flood out of her. Before anyone could approach her to ask what was wrong and before she could lash out on said person for reminding her how wrong everything is, she ran towards the bathroom hallway and straight into a shirtless Lance and Bobbi.

"Shit, Bob!" Lance cursed first, then pushed away to grab his hoodie from the ground. "Christ, Jemma haven't you ever heard of privacy?" he added harshly, not realizing the mascara trails running down her cheeks.

"Jemma, what's up?" Bobbi asked, pushing Lance back and approaching her cautiously. Jemma stared at her friend's concerned expression, noting all the similarities between Fitz's worry and Bobbi's, before bursting into tears like a garden hose.

"You can leave now, Lance," Bobbi ordered as she took a shaking Jemma into her arms. He stared dumbfoundedly at their embrace for a moment before shrugging on his hoodie and retreating quickly.

As soon as Lance left, Jemma started to make indistinguishable sobbing sounds into Bobbi's shirt, while Bobbi cooed reassurance and stroked her back comfortingly. "Fitz," Jemma barely managed between cries, and Bobbi's arms tightened around her.

"I'm so sorry, Jemma," Bobbi whispered, rubbing circles into her back as she gave sob after shuddering sob. "Love sucks sometimes."

Jemma let out a final, frail whimper at the sudden understanding. She loved Fitz, and now he was gone.


	10. Chapter Ten

Jemma allowed herself to be sad for a week, and only when she was alone or with Bobbi. Like Karen had suggested, they hadn't spoken or apologized of even looked at each other, mostly because Jemma knew she would burst into tears when she saw his face. Crying was reserved for the shower now. Her cabin still thought Fitz and Jemma were on good terms with one another, and she couldn't bring herself to destroy their happy little fantasies about the Brit and the Scotsman's secret romance. She'd just started to become friends with the nosey beasts. How could they look up to her if she didn't even have the strength to tell off an insignificant boy?

At the end of the seventh day Jemma decided that she was furious with Fitz. Admittedly, she could've been more mature about their conversation, but it was him who had ticked her off in the first place. It was Fitz who had started the bloody argument in the first place, and Jemma had to defend herself. For Christ's sake, she had set him up for a compliment. Was he really so daft as to not notice her flirting? She had always been the smartest of the two, the most capable. That was the problem. Fitz was a dull idiot.

A dull idiot she had wasted a week crying over. Jemma felt her face flush red and sealed her lips into a straight line as to keep herself from shouting. She was working the horses today, and couldn't risk startling them, so she continued distributing helmets to passing campers until she realized she was physically shaking with rage, and probably needed to let some of it out.

"Lincoln," she called to the lead stable hand, dusting off her hands on her jeans as he rode up to her. "I've just finished passing out helmets, do you need help with anything else?"

"Not until we get back. See you in an hour?" Jemma nodded, thanked him and set off on her way, fists balled at her sides. BB guns were still open for the day, right?

She stomped into the range, where Lance was instructing a small group on gun safety. "Jemma," he greeted, surprised. "I thought you were at the stable today."

"I need to shoot something," Jemma replied anxiously, bouncing slightly on her toes and gritting her teeth together.

"Um, okay, here's a gun," Lance said, handing her the barrel end of his own pistol. "Have you been trained yet?"

Jemma couldn't respond, due to the fact that she was already lining up a shot at one of the target stations. She pulled the trigger five times in a row, satisfied with the way the gun jolted each time and the flinching of those around her. She should've been wearing ear muffs, sure, but the harsh clicking wasn't too bad. She shot six more times before there was no BBs left.

"I'm out." Jemma held the gun up to Lance, who was standing with his mouth agape, letting several gnats into his mouth. The kids behind her were leaning as far back as possible, frozen with their eyes shut and their hands over their ears. "Didn't you hear me? I'm out."

When there was no response after a few seconds she rolled her eyes, dropped the gun, and walked out of the range, not bothering to retrieve her target paper. Why are men so incompetent? Jemma swore she'd never met a decent man, ever, just as she walked past Fitz, who was helping out with a game of football. American football, and dear lord Fitz was lost. Standing with his whistle in his mouth and tugging at the hem of his mesh jersey like a complete waste of oxygen. Seeing him refueled her anger, and she put her hair up and jogged onto the field without hesitation. If firearms couldn't help her with her aggression, maybe tackling the pride out of a few stupid teenage boys would. God knows that's what made her feel better back in primary school.

Jemma felt Fitz's shocked gaze on her as she stuck out her leg and tripped the sprinting quarterback, catching the ball herself and changing direction quickly. She hadn't announced her presence in the game, so she ran alone, throwing herself into any opposition she faced. She was pretty sure someone was crying behind her, but she honestly didn't care. Upon making the touchdown, she slammed the ball to the ground.

Fitz didn't react. Jemma had checked to see if he had flushed bright red with anger or scrunched up his nose in disgust like he used to when she was dissecting in the lab, but he hadn't responded. He stood there, staring at her with a blank expression, and she stared back, hoping it came across as a glare. But she knew she couldn't quite manage a glare, not with the way her heart felt heavy and her throat felt thicker.

Fitz was making her feel sorry again, and Jemma shook her head adamantly as she dropped the tense eye contact between them. She'd felt for him enough already, and he didn't deserve that. He'd never felt for her, and he'd made that clear as day. With a trembling hand, she tossed the discarded football his way, grinning at his clumsy flinch and laughing in time with the thud of tough skin whacking Fitz's soft, unsuspecting face. Jemma was done feeling sorry. With a final snicker directed right at him, she left the field (but not before knocking over two more dull-looking adolescents).

As she walked past the arts and crafts shed, plotting her revenge, someone called out to her. "Jemma!" She didn't recognize the voice, but she turned to its owner with a pleasant smile. He was a handsome, muscled gentleman with a grin and a birdhouse. She remembered him from the night she and Fitz had fought. He was even better up close, and Jemma wasn't sure how to react to that.

"Hey, um, I'm not sure if we've met before, but I've seen you around, and I think you're absolutely gorgeous, so I asked my friend Lance about you. Sorry if that's creepy."

An attractive, polite male? Showing interest in her mediocrely beautiful, five-rated face? Jemma could only giggle. "No, it's fine."

"He told me you were single as of recently?" he continued, ever the charmer.

"Yeah, why?" Jemma replied, a bit too eagerly.

"Same here. Not a lot of girls want to date a ballet dancer, it seems. Would you like to join me at the campfire tonight, mademoiselle?" She giggled again. Jemma was acting so strange she wouldn't be able to recognize herself.

"Sure," she replied nevertheless, hoping at least for revenge. "Um, what's your name again?"

"Antoine," he replied like his name was the most pretentious in the world. Jemma grinned. "But you can call me Trip."

"Thanks, Trip. I'll see you tonight."

"Cool. If the French didn't work I was gonna give you this birdhouse, but I really like the work I did on the side, so I'm gonna keep it now." Trip laughed, so she laughed. "I'll make you a s'more later, though?"

"Sounds perfect."


	11. Chapter Eleven

About halfway through the campfire Jemma realized Fitz was acting a lot happier than she was. Even after she had snuggled as close as she could into Trip's side, even after she'd shared a s'more with him, even after giving him a dramatic peck on the cheek, Fitz was sitting across the fire, smiling and ironically singing his heart out like normal. And Jemma was furious about it. Especially when the girl in the floral sundress took a seat next to him and made him laugh more than she had ever seen him laugh in her life. Jemma decided it was time to enact serious revenge.

Fitz was trying to enjoy himself as much as he could without Jemma's bitter realist sarcasm and snorting laugh. Truthfully, he missed her presence in his life, regardless of what kind of relationship they had. He felt lonely, though he was surrounded by people. None of those people could ever compare to Jemma, and although he was doing fine on his own, he knew he needed her back eventually. Until then, Fitz compensated with half-hearted joking and empty laughs.

Jemma leaned further into Trip and kissed him full on the mouth. His mouth was decidedly too big for hers, and it sort of felt like he was sucking her face off, but she was sure Fitz would be annoyed by it. As she pulled back she looked directly at him, only to find he was watching her as well. The fire barely illuminated his face, but even so she could see the hurt glistening in his eyes. It should've been satisfying, but it felt more like a punch to the stomach. She leaned away from Trip before remembering that she wanted Fitz's hurt. This was a revenge scheme after all.

Fitz pretended not to notice the way Jemma glided unhesitatingly up to Trip's lips. The way her eyes fluttered shut without second thought. The way her lips had slid easily against his. Fitz was more jealous of the ease of their kiss than the fact that Jemma was kissing someone who wasn't him. It stung for a moment, but faded away soon, like a paper cut. This was why he had ended their friendship. Five almost kisses, but they'd never be anything more than almost. He had to disconnect things completely if there was any hope for an actual kiss. It's just an unexpected part of the plan Fitz had devised at the beginning of the summer. A miserable, screwed-up part.

"Listen, Jemma," Trip began with a stern tone while separating himself from her. Jemma wasn't surprised at the way he detached himself so easily, nor the way she scooted away, relieved. "If I'm just a rebound, come right on out and say it." Jemma took a deep breath and cast a glance across the fire to where Fitz was gleaming at the dark-haired girl.

"Not a rebound, exactly," Jemma explained, not removing her gaze from Fitz. "We were best friends, but I think we both know it's more than that now. We stopped speaking about a week ago. Guess the tension was too much for him."

"That sucks," Trip replied quite bluntly. "So I'm your revenge scheme?" She nodded. "I'm honored," he said with a smirk, and Jemma managed a laugh. They both stared at the fire for awhile. "I'm a pretty good actor, you know. We can keep this up, if you want."

"Really?" Jemma asked, feeling guilty that he had even offered.

"It's no consequence to me. Actually, my whole troupe thinks I can't get girls. Take some couple-y pictures together and write me a break up letter a month later, and they might cut me some slack."

"Sounds fantastic."

"Wanna sneak into the woods together and let everyone wonder what sort of 'purpling' we're up to?"

"Let's."

Fitz waited for the pair to leave before he started crying. It was subtle crying, of course. When his new friend Raina asked about the puffy eyes, his response was, "It's just my contacts, I swear. The fire dried them up." Fitz didn't wear contacts. But nobody here knew that.

"Fitz, are you okay?" Raina asked, keeping her distance, for which Fitz was glad.

"Fine," he responded, then wiped at another tear. He knew Raina wouldn't let him away with that, and he was almost glad. He needed to talk to someone over the age of thirteen. He needed to move on, at least to a different friend. Jemma was obviously past him already.

"I have- had this friend. Well, she was more than that, at least to me. She doesn't like me in that way."

"I'm going to stop you there," Raina interrupted, her voice low and kind. "It's Jemma, right?" Fitz nodded, then sniffled weakly. "Figures. With dimples like those, no wonder you're head over heels.

"Listen, this friendship-to-relationship transition is always hard, especially if one of you isn't attracted to the other at the start. It's natural to break apart for awhile. I didn't talk to my girlfriend for months after our first kiss."

Fitz sat back a bit and laughed. "Well now I feel like a whiny git. It would've been much harder for you two, having the added difficulty of confused sexuality and telling your parents and all that. Christ, now I feel so annoying."

Raina gave a smooth, tinkling laugh. "It's still the same problem. All I'm saying is that I've been where you've been, and I promise it gets better. You've already taken the plunge. Now you just have to hold out through rough waters."

"That was a bloody beautiful metaphor," Fitz said with a small smile, then wiped a final tear from his face.

"You like that? I've got more. The Phoenix has to die before it can rise from the ashes. Caterpillars go into hiding before metamorphosing into butterflies. It is the thorn that protect the rose. What light through yonder window breaks?"

"Stop, stop, I hated the Shakespearean unit in university." Raina snickered.

"No matter how I put it, you'll both be fine."

"Thanks, Raina."


	12. Chapter Twelve

The sun was still hovering on the horizon, as though it was still deciding whether or not to rise. Fitz was in the exact same position, lying awake in his bed at this ungodly hour, considering how difficult it would be to open his eyes. Something has woken him up. He couldn't quite put his tongue on what. Except that it was keeping him up now.

A childish giggle sounded near his ear, and Fitz flinched straight up, knocking heads with a mischievous camper named Dylan. "What the hell?" Fitz announced, bringing a hand to his face. The boys' laughter only increased when he realized his face was covered in whipped cream. Fitz shrugged and licked his lips, and the laughter died down as boys retreated to their bunks to begin getting ready for the day.

"You all act like I'm going to waste a perfectly good can of cool whip. You've known me for a month now, have I really left such a fleeting impression?"

"We'll remember to use shaving cream from the kitchen next time," Alpha Wesley promised, throwing the empty Tupperware container on his bunk.

"Good, you pre-pubescents have no use for it anyways," Fitz retorted with a grin, then stuffed his foot into a shoe. Over the past month he'd become good friends with his cabin, despite the circumstances of Fitz hating the outdoors and shared bathrooms. He'd learned the dynamics of their group, and he'd fit himself into their social loop quite easily. Especially after they'd shared all of their camp hacks, like sleeping in the next day's clothes and hoarding water bottles full of Pepsi from dinner.

A bunch of immature middle-schoolers and a brutally wise, Shakespeare-loving lesbian friend couldn't possibly fill the hole Jemma had left in his life. But it was only because they weren't of the same peg. Raina and Wesley and Dylan and the boys were wonderful friends to him. They were the kind of people Fitz would share his fries with, the kind of people he'd force to watch old horror movies with him. Not the kind he would daydream about kissing. He was glad for the platonic happiness they brought him every single day at this terrible camp.

Fitz still daydreamed about kissing Jemma, though. And he still got mad when he saw her sitting with Trip, wearing Trip's shirts, every single morning during breakfast. He was mostly mad at himself for not having the guts to ask her out sooner, but a part of his bitterness came from the way Trip seemed to be constantly watching him for a reaction to their excessive affection. Fitz sat quietly, trying not to show his anger, hoping Karen would give them the same chat about purpling. (And then after breakfast all the boys would join him in mocking Trip's flawless muscle mass and frankly obnoxious campfire singing.)

Fitz was standing at the bottom of the zip line that afternoon, helping campers undo their harnesses and sending them back to the start, when a very sweaty Lance approached, clutching at his ear. Lance leaned against the fence while Fitz finished unclipping the most recent zipper.

"Bobbi's killing me today, mate," he greeted as Fitz sent the harness back up the line.

"You say that every day. You'd think you'd be dead by now," Fitz joked, then finished unclasping the next girl's helmet.

"But I really mean it today. She's been such a demonic hell beast lately. We were running archery today and I told her something dumb about my fingers being magical, and she snapped. Shot five arrows right at the bullseye, and split two of 'em. Said she'd learned bow and arrow from an ex, someone named Clint who, according to Bob, was ten times more talented with his hands."

Fitz snickered, and the conversation had to be delayed while Fitz helped another camper unclip. Lance paced near the exit, muttering to himself about the third time this week and 'why do I even try'. As soon as the girl had left the unloading area, Fitz turned to Lance.

"Sorry, Lance, but I can't say you didn't deserve it."

"Then she shot at me. It just nicked the top of my ear, but it's bleeding! It's bloody bleeding! Look!"

"There's no blood there, Lance," Fitz laughed.

"Well it was bleeding. Psycho bitch."

"It's like that time she threw her textbook at you for getting wasted on date night. Questionable actions, but I agree with the motive."

"Whatever," Lance huffed. "She just stormed out of the range, leaving me to deal with all the frightened midgets. Kind of like a month ago when Jemma flipped out at BB guns. Bloody hell, why is it always me getting stuck with the angry lunatics?"

Fitz set down the helmet he had been cleaning and turned to Lance hastily. "Wait, what?"

"I mean, I know girls' menstrual cycles sync when there's lots of them in one place, but-"

"No, not that. Jemma was at the gun range? She hates guns."

"Oh, yeah. I was teaching a bunch of little ones how to load, and she marched in, pissed to no end. She had surprisingly good aim."

"You said this was a month ago?" Fitz asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Yeah, I think. That's the way ovaries work, right?"

Fitz brought his fingers to his temples, trying to maintain his chill. "Can you stop talking about female anatomy for one second? I remember she also tackled the heaviest football player that day. You really think she was mad?"

"Why else would she go on a shooting spree, mate? Can we get back to my problems?"

"That was the day after we fought. Do you think... Damn! I'm an idiot." Lance tried to redirect the conversation to his mediocre problems with Bobbi, but Fitz was already walking towards the front office, whispering to himself about how oblivious he'd been all the way.

"Karen!" Fitz shouted at her office window. The surprised blonde looked up from her laptop, eyebrows raised. "I need to switch back to Dumbledore's Army. It's really important, because I just found out that she likes me back and I need an excuse to talk to her, and also, I want kitchen duty for the next week so that I can access the baking supplies because I'm really feeling the need for cookies. So can you switch me back?"

Karen sat still, too stunned to move, for a second, before settling with a simple nod of her head. Fitz grinned and yelled a thank you as he scrambled away, tripping over his own excited feet in the process. He wiped the wood chips off his hands and thanked her again before sprinting away, successfully this time.

For once in his life, Fitz was happy about his ignorance, because it meant that Jemma didn't hate him. Well, she did sort of hate him, but not for the reasons he thought, which was better than nothing.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

The next day, Fitz was cracking eggs into a bowl in preparation for breakfast, and he was acutely aware of Jemma's rigid glare on him as she chopped fruit. He tried not to be scared, because he knew that she actually liked him, too, but Jemma was just intimidating sometimes. Especially when she's holding a very large, very sharp knife.

Fitz wondered who on earth thought it would be a good idea to equip a pissed-off Jemma with a knife, but when he saw Lance smirking from his station at the oven, he knew this was Lance's frankly speaking weak attempt at revenge. Fitz knew Lance wasn't someone to fear, though. He and Bobbi hadn't hooked up the night before, so Lance was just moody. He'd feel better after some more brooding and heavy complaining. It's a British thing.

"Why is he here?" Jemma murmured to Bobbi. They stood side by side at a portable metal cart, cutting fruit and delighting in the thuds of the knife hitting the cutting board. Both women had been wronged by a man, and both were passively aggressive about it. Jemma made unwavering eye contact with Fitz as she sliced a banana in half haphazardly.

Bobbi let out a stiff sigh as she finished another orange. "He transferred back to our team yesterday. I'm sure Lance would know why."

"Look at his stupid face," Jemma remarked, her arm now chopping with enough force to leave marks on the previously clear board. "His stupid stubble. I bet he doesn't shave it on purpose."

Bobbi huffed out a bitter laugh. "Or he just forgets without reminders. Once when Lance and I were going through a dry spell he grew a beard just like Obi Wan Kenobi's. It was disgustingly hot."

"Fitz, it's just karma," Lance insisted, scratching at his stubble, then continued scrambling eggs. "You did someone wrong, and it's back to bite you in the- ow!" Lance's hand shot back and he flung pieces of egg out of the large pan and into his own hair. "Christ," he muttered over Fitz's laughs.

"I just expected her to be a tad less distant. We still like each other, right?"

Lance finished picking out the pieces of egg, flung them onto the plate with the rest of the scrambled batch, and rolled his eyes not-so-subtly. "Yeah, sure."

Jemma finished distributing fruit slices among the bowls, and glared at Fitz as she did so. "Why would he come back? We still hate each other, right?"

Bobbi shrugged, and they began setting tables in the dining hall. "I don't think you're capable of actually hating each other. It's just been weeks since you've spoken. Now, Hunter and I, we actually hate each other."

Jemma considered this. "Yeah, but Fitz and I have never had a silent fight. In the past when we disagreed we would just shout it out until we reached an understanding. There were never these sneaky, passive aggressive battles like we're having now. Maybe we truly aren't compatible anymore."

"Pfft, that's not it at all, babe," Bobbi managed through an amused grin. "You're just different people now. You duke it out differently. And that's okay. You're a biochemist, you should know change is natural."

"Studying biochemist, and change isn't natural if it's self-determined. What if we forced the relationship and it just stopped working?"

"Then you can force it to start again," Bobbi replied matter-of-factly, then placed a napkin holder in the center of the closest table. "He is an engineer, isn't he?"

Jemma laughed. "You're amazing, Bobbi."

"I know."

"Hunter would be stupid to give you up," Jemma promised with a half smile. Bobbi's nose crinkled, and she beamed widely.

"He is a drop out." Jemma joined in Bobbi's giggles, and for the first time in her life she'd admit that they were in fact giggles.

When Fitz walked through the doorway from the kitchen to the hall, pushing a cart of cinnamon rolls, he found Jemma Simmons standing next to Bobbi, giggling. Full-out, no-regrets, girly, actual tea party giggling. He instantly reached for his pocket, forgetting camp didn't allow cell phones, yet wanting proof of this spectacular moment. Reserved, proud scientist Jemma Simmons, giggling like a seven-year-old. Who would've thought?

Jemma stopped laughing as soon as she noticed Fitz watching her. She was caught off guard by his presence, so she couldn't quite reassemble her frightening scowl, but she managed a blank stare. He countered with a blank stare of his own, and Jemma found herself wishing they weren't so similar. Bobbi stood next to her, looking back and forth between the two, waiting for something to explode or someone's face to melt off, but nothing happened for several seconds.

Then Fitz smiled. And it was such a sincere, light-hearted, ridiculously goofy smile, that Fitz could almost feel a piece of himself drifting off and towards her. He waited on pins and needles for her reaction. He hoped she would be gentle with him.

But Jemma was anything but gentle. Jemma was a storm, ripping through steel and concrete and making her own path, her own world. So she stood, expressionless, probably not even realizing how beautifully the early morning sunshine lit up her eyes, and how completely wrecked Fitz was by her. Because he had endured this storm, and he would endure years more, just for hope of the sun.

The sun broke through the clouds, and Jemma smiled back.

"I've never heard you laugh like that before," he said, almost shyly, and Jemma felt a mix of regret and happiness.

"I've never heard me laugh like that before," she admitted. Fitz let out his own strange chuckle, and a wave of relief swept over Jemma. He stumbled forward suddenly, knocking over a box of cereal in the process, and she snorted. "You're so clumsy, Fitz," she scolded teasingly as he continued his trek towards her.

Before she could say anything else, Fitz had enveloped her in a hug, and Jemma returned in gratefully.

"We're okay, right?" Fitz whispered into her hair, and Jemma leaned into him, pressing a brief kiss to his neck, so lightly he would doubt it had even been there. Then she pulled him tighter into her arms, and moved her mouth to his ear.

"Perfect."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Jemma would've liked to steal Fitz away and make out with him in the woods, but there were appearances to maintain and lines to not cross (yet), so she refrained from acting upon her impulses. At least until campfire, when they could sit in the back row and Karen and all of the innocent, pure campers wouldn't be able to see their treacherous purpling.

Then, as she was arranging tater tots on trays for lunch, it occurred to her that perhaps Fitz just wanted her friendship again. She nearly groaned aloud after realizing this, and her gaze shifted from the processed frozen potato products to across the kitchen, where Fitz was washing a few dishes from breakfast. He wasn't looking back at her, which was disappointing, because if he had been, Jemma would've known the way he was looking at her, and thus how he felt about her. Fitz always had been really bad at hiding his emotions, or maybe Jemma just knew him too well. Just as she began to weigh the pros and cons of continuing to stare at him, he turned and stared back, so Jemma looked away without closely analyzing his face. She'd lost the opportunity to collect evidence, but as she accidentally flung cold potato wads everywhere in an attempt to look busy, she knew there wouldn't have been any extreme difference worth noting. Plus, they couldn't just stare at each other. That's creepy.

"Jemma, would you stop muttering to yourself? I'm trying to hear the music," Bobbi complained from her spot on the counter, picking at her nails. Ever since Bobbi had broken up with Lance, scary, intense music played loudly during shifts. She'd meant to send a message to Lance to stay away, but they both liked the same bands, so it was really quite pleasant. As pleasant as heavy metal punk hard rock pop screamo could be. Jemma didn't know what to classify the genre as; she just knew it had a lot of guitar riffs, piercing moans of agony, and unintelligible lyrics, although on occasion she could catch a 'let me go' or a 'daaaaaaark'.

Bobbi was mumbling along to whichever choice selection she'd made today, glaring towards a whistling, carrot-chopping Lance. Jemma almost laughed at their cold distance. It was so obvious how much Lance and Bobbi loved each other. They couldn't ever just let it go, because it meant too much to both of them. These little pulses of harsh fighting and forced separation were just how they expressed their concern. And Bobbi was delirious if she truly believed Lance could ever hate her.

Jemma decided she could never deal with such a roller coaster of a relationship. She'd need a constant incline, a straight track. Maybe a few bumps in the road to make sure she was still holding on, but not so much that she'd fall off. She needed predictability and reliability. A firm and steady, yet not unexciting growth. As she finished the last tater tot tray, she replayed the past few years of her life, checking for consistencies. Fitz's blue eyes watching out for her seemed to be the one anchor in her life. Jemma didn't know how she hadn't realized it earlier.

That afternoon Jemma ditched her arts and crafts shift with Trip, instead heading to the tower, where she knew Fitz was working. He waved to her from the top, then lurched forward as a gust of wind rattled the wooden structure. Jemma gasped before Fitz's harness held and he stumbled back and fell. Jemma laughed, but decided she needed to join him up there, and probably yell at him for being so careless.

"I swear you're the dumbest genius I've ever met," she said in greeting, and Fitz grinned stupidly, as if to prove her point.

"At least I didn't decide to tackle a bunch of middle schoolers because I was 'in a mood'," Fitz retorted, then sent the next zipper down the line. "Oh, and didn't you also open fire on a bunch of plastic targets without safety training or earphones?"

"I knew Hunter would tell you," Jemma accused, stepping closer towards him. "It was just a BB gun, and my dad taught me how to shoot, thank you very much."

"Your dad? The ecology professor at Cambridge? I never expected him to be the hunting type. Remind me not to make you mad again ever."

"I wouldn't need my father if I wanted to kill someone," Jemma corrected, quite seriously. Fitz's eyes widened, and she rolled her eyes at him. "I'm a scientist, Fitz, I know chemicals. A little bit of cyanide in your tea and you'd croak in minutes."

"Is this a normal train of thought for you?" Fitz asked, slightly horrified. Jemma laughed.

"Not until a few weeks ago. You're lucky I don't have access to a lab at this godawful summer camp." Fitz looked rather uncomfortable as he helped the next camper get hooked to the line.

"I'd never be able to do it, you know," Jemma admitted. "You're my best... friend in the world."

Fitz smiled half-heartedly as he readied the next harness. "Did you want to go?" Jemma looked up, startled from her courage-building, and was confused for several seconds before she realized he was talking about the zip line.

"Oh, yeah, sure," she answered without thinking, and Fitz stepped closer to the edge and allowed her through.

Jemma stood dangerously close to the edge as Fitz orbited to her side, and her breathing quickened, whether from the height or Fitz's proximity she might never know. Then his hands were on her hips, testing the harness straps there, and everything blurred together in her mind. She felt dizzy between the two-story drop and Fitz's breath on her shoulder as he fastened the hooks to the metal loop resting on her chest, and did he have to stand so close? He was over-complicating everything, and her brain wasn't- it wasn't- a wood chip fell from the platform and she could hear it whistling through the air as it plummeted. The height and the Fitz and the falling, God, the falling.

"I can't do this, Fitz, it's too high," she said, and it came out so quietly, so distantly, she wasn't sure if she'd actually said it. Fitz's hand ran underneath the straps on her shoulders, and she swatted them away unthinkingly, bringing her hands to her face as she started shaking.

"Jemma? Jemma," Fitz was repeating her name, and he'd moved a few inches from her, hands hesitantly reaching towards her.

"It's too much," Jemma insisted, feeling herself tear up. Fitz cautiously opened his arms to her, and she turned into them almost immediately.

"It's fine, Jemma," he assured her, nudging them back from the edge. "It's okay to be scared, it's okay to be unsure. Everything will turn out fine."

"I'm just scared of falling," she whispered as her tremors began to lessen. Fitz's arms stayed tight around her.

"It's sturdy enough, It'll hold you, I swear. Nothing bad will happen, not while I'm by your side. I'll be here, with you, no matter what happens."

She could do this. With a steadying breath, she pulled out of his arms and took a step closer to the edge. The distance still terrified her, but if she ever wanted to do anything risky in her life, she needed to learn how to overcome her biggest fears.

"Jemma," Fitz said, barely meaning for it to come out, but Jemma still looked back at him. He looked like he was trying to decide something, and for a moment Jemma panicked that he hadn't told her something. Then he took a few steps closer to her. "If you're doing scary things, then I'm doing scary things. You know how you said I'm your best friend in the world?" She nodded, her whole body tense with anticipation.

"Well, you're more than that." He didn't meet her eyes, and for a long time they stood, staring at anything but each other, and Jemma was still processing what he'd said. Then she broke into a stupid grin and took his surprised face in both hands.

"Like I said, you're the dumbest genius," Jemma barely got out before pressing her lips to his, quite soberly this time. It was nothing like their first kiss, mostly because after about three seconds Fitz got a bit excited and started pushing her back towards the ledge, and she ended up soaring backwards breathlessly before they could finish it, but it was a good kiss nevertheless. In fact, the mid-tongue surprise flight only intensified the butterflies in her stomach, and she heard herself screaming happily as she descended.

As luck would have it, Hunter was staffed unclipping people at the bottom, and as her feet touched the ground, his smirk grew. "Good ride?" he asked coyly.

"The best."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT IS BACK FROM THE WAR

"Guess who found the liquor?" Lance asked as he barged into Fitz's cabin holding two brown paper bags and trailing a styrofoam cooler behind him. Over the brief month Fitz had known Lance, he'd come to understand Lance's drinking habits. His normal schedule went like this: mimosas in the mornings, beer all afternoon, and a tasteless assortment of cheap booze at night. Fitz knew that, at least outside of camp, Lance was a shameless alcoholic, and he knew that counseling each summer was the only sort of beer break Lance got, besides the times Bobbi would hide it all. Of course he would try to bring his second true love into a children's camp.

"Lance, c'mon, Alonso's still in here," Fitz groaned as he finished lacing up his second shoe.

"What the hell kind of name is Alonso?" Lance whispered in disgust.

"It's German," the boy protested, having obviously heard Lance insult him.

"It's stupid," Lance retorted, sticking out his tongue. Fitz was almost certain Lance had already gotten his hands on a bottle or two.

"It's my great grandfather's name. He died during World War Two in a Nazi work camp." Fitz gaped, and Lance's eyes looked as though they were going to pop out of his head as he brought his fingers guiltily to his mouth.

"That's unfortunate," Lance commented to Fitz as the boy stared at him.

"Lance is so sorry, Alonso," Fitz translated, throwing a glare towards Hunter. "And I'm sure he'll give you his dessert at dinner tonight if you don't tell Karen."

Lance considered this for a moment before turning stone-faced. "It's brownies tonight. No deal." Fitz elbowed him in the side, causing the Brit to drop both bags. "Ow! Fine, I'll give him my brownie, just let me hide this cooler in your cabin?"

"Why would I help you break camp rules?" Fitz said with an incredulous laugh.

"Because I'll share?" Lance suggested, nudging Fitz with a retrieved bag.

"Bobbi and Jemma have to come, too." Lance sighed and rolled his eyes, then looked at Alonso until he got the hint that this was adult time.

Alonso blinked twice, then turned and exited the cabin, knocking into Lance as he went, causing the brown paper bags to fall once again.

"Bloody hell, that kid's a disaster waiting to happen."

"Alonso clogs the toilet every morning," Fitz replied woefully. "Now are Bobbi and Jemma invited or not?"

"Bob hates me," Lance said sadly, and Fitz actually laughed. "Don't mock me, mate. She won't even look at me anymore."

"Christ, is this how people of average intelligence think?"

"Fitz, this is how you thought about Jemma this past month," Lance jousted back, and Fitz smiled.

"Oh yeah. Let me tell you, then, from experience: if someone's mad at you for more than a month, it means they still care."

"That doesn't make any sense, Fitz," Hunter replied before taking a swig from the bag.

"Just think about it before you go bashing my knowledge of psychology, which, by the way, I have a bachelors in." Lance rolled his eyes. "If someone really hurts you beyond repair, you'd leave them. If you keep thinking about them, keep missing them, you'll get mad over and over again. Anger is a good sign, really, as opposed to numbness."

"Bobbi's never been this hostile before," Lance protested, set on being pessimistic and hopeless.

"That means she's never been so in love," Fitz insisted with a smile.

"So what am I supposed to do to get her to not be angry with me?"

"Be a gentleman. Plan a nice date. Pay some of the rent sometimes."

"How am I supposed to do that at this barren, romanticism-ridden camp?"

"I don't know, be creative," Fitz shrugged, then stood up and flicked off the light switch of the cabin and started down the path towards the dining hall.

"Please please please please please help me," Hunter begged, running to catch up. Fitz rolled his eyes.

"Double date it is," he promised. "But you've got to leave dinner half an hour early to help me set up."

"Fitz, you absolute beauty!" Hunter shouted quite loudly in thanks, then grabbed his head and placed an excited kiss on the top of it. Fitz couldn't believe he'd felt Hunter's lips more than Jemma's during the course of this camp. He truly intended to change that by the end of the summer.

\---------------------------------------------

"You and Fitz kissed!" shouted the girls at Jemma's table when she explained her attitude the next day at dinner, and she was too proud to shush them. For once, she didn't care if the whole camp knew that she and Fitz had broken the rules and purpled. She delighted in the knowledge that she was the only one who knew Fitz's lips like that, and everyone else could only speculate how very fantastic a kisser he was.

Luckily, Karen, apart from a few glares thrown at the table, could not take action against them because she didn't have proof. She could choose to assume Fitz and Simmons were independent, separate people-- good role models for developing adolescents. And, by this point in the tiring summer, Karen simply didn't have enough energy to investigate. Lance said this always happened, and by the last week she always threw field trip plans out the window in exchange for nap time. The kids usually snuck off the grounds this week regardless, but Karen used every single minute of that nap time to her advantage.

Just thinking about it made Jemma yawn, so she decided to think about Fitz instead. And about how nice and comfortable and gentlemanly Fitz was. Just kidding, she focused on his calloused fingers, dry lips, and slowly growing muscles. Working the tower had done wonders for Fitz's form and Jemma's fantasies. She used to only make up stories where Fitz was a shy librarian or the Doctor, but now she had a nice recurring daydream of a 50's greaser Fitz taking her on rides in his restored convertible and, of course, on his motorcycle. Jemma quickly decided that maybe eating dinner surrounded by children was not a good time to think about glistening-with-sweat and oil, smirking Fitz, so she listened in on whatever melodrama was going on with the girls. Monica's boyfriend had broken up with her in a letter, the scumbag.

"Jemma?" she heard, and turned to find Bobbi crouched down next to her chair.

"Hey, Bobbi, what's up?"

"Fitz wants you to meet him at the pier twenty minutes after campfire tonight," she murmured discreetly, acting like she was just grabbing an extra roll from the bin. Unfortunately, the girls at her table also heard, and she was soon enveloped by giggles and 'oooooooooh's.

"He's adorable," Jemma admired, not paying much attention to the childish chaos around her. "God, don't you just love him?"

"Not really," Bobbi replied, and Jemma was absolutely offended. "He convinced Hunter and I to come, as in a double date, and Hunter and I aren't dating."

"Oh my Lord, Bobbi. You're in love with each other, and it's almost sickening how much you try to hide it."

"Says the girl who was friends with Fitz six years before making a move," Bobbi retorted, then withdrew from the area quickly, as Karen was approaching. Jemma smiled her sweetest smile as Karen passed, and the blonde didn't even try to conceal the roll of her eyes.

"What happened to Shik'is, Karen?!" Jemma yelled joyfully after her, and Karen just looked confused. Jemma didn't care. She was going on a real date with her real best friend turned boyfriend Leo Fitz.

And she was elated.


End file.
